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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653971">Rubies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTRWTW/pseuds/GTRWTW'>GTRWTW</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anniversary, Barclay is NOT invited, Celebrations, Dancing, Declarations Of Love, Dinner, Don't want to say more than that, Dresses, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Hotels, I might change the rating, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Oop the rating change happened, Party, Phone Calls &amp; Telephones, Pining, Shopping, Smut, Texting, Tuxedos, but you all know where this is going, will there be another?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:49:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTRWTW/pseuds/GTRWTW</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-on from Job Satisfaction, but you don't have to have read that one for this one to make sense. </p><p>This is for everyone in the Denmark Street Discord, who have been unbelievably enthusiastic and incredible about the pub fics, and wanted a continuation. I hope this turns out to be something close to what you wanted 😊</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>169</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cotton</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>‘Twas partly love, and partly fear,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And partly ’twas a bashful art,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>That I might rather feel, than see,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The swelling of her heart.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Samuel Taylor Coleridge, <em>Love</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Robin trailed one hand through the fabrics hanging on the rack, trying to make a decision. She'd mentally discarded all of the trousers, shirts, and skirts she'd come across; this was an occasion with a capital O, and such an event required a showstopping dress.</p><p>Unfortunately, she feared that the only showstopper she owned was damaged beyond repair. The poison green Cavalli dress that Strike had bought her as a thank you gift had been unceremoniously ripped by her now ex-husband, back when he had thought his position as spouse had entitled him to sex despite Robin's tiredness and their constant arguments. Regardless, the Cavalli would not do: Robin needed something new to better match the aquamarine earrings that were the only part of her outfit she had unequivocally decided on. She smiled to herself as she reflected that a good percentage of her favourite belongings, now, had been given to her by Strike. She looked forward to seeing his face when she greeted him, wearing his earrings and his perfume, and seeing the glowing smile that seemed, lately, to be reserved for her alone.</p><p>Robin sighed and told herself to concentrate. She'd never been a keen shopper, and now she felt the pressure; it was as though the significance of the event had started out tiny, not significant at all, but had grown through the weeks until it now felt important, all-consuming, and huge. She wanted Strike to do a double take when he saw her; she almost wanted him to fail to recognise her. </p><p>Her parents' fortieth wedding anniversary was hardly the talk of the town. A relatively quiet affair, Robin assumed, given what she knew of her parents and their eschewing of loud venues in favour of the local village pub or their own sitting room, a glass of red wine in hand and a serial drama on the television. Nevertheless, they had hired the function suite of a large country house hotel for 'dinner and dancing', according to the invitation, and Linda had told Robin that she was expecting over a hundred guests. Robin wasn't quite sure whether she should be more pleased or apprehensive that this would lend itself well to anonymity; the sheer size of the event would allow her to sit, unnoticed, in a shadowy corner with Strike, free from scrutiny and interruptions.</p><p>Robin decided she needed professional help, and she approached a member of sales staff with a determined air.</p><p>Forty-five minutes later, Robin was standing in front of the mirror in the dressing room wearing one of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen. It was a deep shade of maroon, with a high halter neck that wrapped around her throat. A tiny cutout in the front ensured an elegant drape over her breasts, and the fabric flowed close to her figure all the way down to her ankles. A thigh-high slit in one side allowed a peek of flesh if she positioned herself for it. The sales assistant had pointed out the perfect shoes: four inch stilettos in delicate silver, barely-there straps ensuring that no focus was drawn from the dress. </p><p>Robin turned this way and that, feeling the swish of the skirt around her legs and knowing that this was the dress she needed; she felt pretty in it and she knew it would boost her confidence. She returned to the cubicle with some reluctance, her jeans and jumper feeling decidedly unglamorous in comparison. However, as she dressed she allowed herself a few minutes' contemplation of the look in Strike's eyes when he saw her in it; would he be attracted to her? Would he say anything? Robin was so consumed in thoughts of that moment that she had forgotten to agonise over the fact that they would be spending hours in the Land Rover together on the way to Yorkshire, or that they would spend an entire dinner party together, or that they would be spending the night in a hotel, albeit in separate rooms. </p><p>Robin gathered her things, put on her coat, and went to pay for the dress. The tube ride home was stuffy and packed, but the paper bag swinging from her hand, and the anticipation its contents engendered, kept Robin's spirits high all the way back to Earl's Court.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>"My mum's been in touch again."</p><p>"Hmmm."</p><p>"Is that it?"</p><p>Robin chuckled to herself and switched the phone to speaker so that she could continue packing the small suitcase she intended to take to Yorkshire. Her new dress was hanging in a carrier on the front of her wardrobe, and she felt a swoop of nerves each time she looked at it. If she was being honest, Strike's throaty hum through the phone had given her a similar swoop. Robin sighed inwardly as she reflected that these flutters and tingles were just things she had to cope with now; she had found it increasingly difficult to tamp them down ever since she'd finally admitted her feelings to herself, alone in her bedroom after her thirtieth birthday.</p><p>"Well, what did she say?" asked Strike.</p><p>"More of the same. Wanting us to spend a couple of extra days there. Saying that we can stay in the house."</p><p>"You can, if you want to stay with your family."</p><p>"I don't," admitted Robin. "Stephen and Jenny will be there with Annabel. And Jonathan's home, so it's just my room that's…" She trailed off, aware that she had been about to explain that they would have to share a room and feeling, on balance, that it probably didn't need spelling out. "The house will be packed. It'll be easier to just go to the hotel as planned. We'll have a good night there."</p><p>"Okay." </p><p>Robin's stomach dropped as she realised what she'd said. She swore under her breath; she really needed to get it together.</p><p>"I meant we'll have a better night's sleep."</p><p>"I know you did."</p><p>Was it her imagination, or was there amusement in Strike's rich voice? The rasp of it was getting in the way; Robin couldn't tell.</p><p>"Anyway, are you ready?" she asked breezily. A second passed before Strike answered, and Robin was suddenly convinced that he knew why she was tripping over her tongue.</p><p>"Yeah, I am," he said. Robin didn't reply; her mouth seemed to be entirely dry. "I'll come to your flat in the morning, shall I?"</p><p>"That would be easiest," agreed Robin. She cleared her throat, threw her makeup bag into the case and took up the phone again, switching the speaker off. "We'll need to set off early, I think. It starts at seven, and we'll need to get settled into the hotel."</p><p>"And I'll need to do my hair," said Strike. "Oh, wait, that's not my line," he joked.</p><p>Robin laughed. "Yeah, I'll need hours. So shall we say nine thirty?"</p><p>"Robin, you could walk in straight off the street and still turn every head in the place." Robin was stunned into silence. "But yes, I'll be there at nine thirty. Sleep well," he said softly, and he rang off before Robin could muster the wherewithal to speak.</p><p>Robin put the phone down on her bedside table and plugged it in to charge. She changed quickly into her pyjamas, shifted the suitcase and assorted piles of discarded clothes from her bed, and slid under the duvet, mind buzzing with the evening's conversation. </p><p>There was only one head she wanted to turn, one man's attention she wanted to capture. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face at the memory of his compliment, delivered so casually in that deep voice. Robin had been so focused on making him sit up and take notice that she hadn't considered that he might already be paying attention. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Steel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>(I think I made you up inside my head.)</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sylvia Plath, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mad Girl's Love Song</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd done it a hundred times before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin stood by the Land Rover, suitcase already packed into its boot, and watched Strike walking towards her. The morning was crisp and clear, and Strike raised a hand in greeting, carrying a rucksack with the other. She'd seen it a hundred times before, but this time Robin felt a rush of warmth that she knew would be repeating itself throughout the coming day and night. She could think of no way to stop it, so she tried to embrace it; she waved back, smiling faintly, and opened the driver's door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Morning," said Strike as he reached her. He clambered into the car and dropped his bag in the footwell, smiling across at Robin. "Nice day."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, it is. Don't you want that in the boot?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No. I brought coffee and snacks."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin stared for a beat, and then started to laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So did I. They're on the back seat."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike pivoted to see a flask and a bag containing mixed nuts, crystallised ginger, strawberries, and a small packet of biscuits. He frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Damn it. I wanted to be the useful one this time," he said. "But at least I've got the good stuff," and he pulled out an enormous bar of milk chocolate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Strike, I've got a dress to fit into, here," joked Robin. Strike grinned, but said nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. The familiar feel of setting off on a car journey with her partner put Robin at ease, and the slight air of awkwardness soon dissipated as the miles slipped away. Their chatter stayed on safe ground: they discussed work, their open cases providing ample material for at least half of the journey. The discussion took them out of the south and a good way along the grey M1, until Strike announced that he needed a pee and some actual food, and they stopped at Leicester Forest East services. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They beat the lunchtime rush by a few minutes; as they reached the counter to order, the tables began to fill up around them. Strike sent Robin back to claim a table for two by the window, and returned five minutes later carrying a tray laden with steaming teriyaki beef and katsu chicken. Strike looked triumphant as he dug in with a fork, smiling at Robin as though all was good in his world.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you looking forward to tonight?" asked Strike, rummaging in the carrier bag for a biscuit. Robin decided not to comment on the mere hour that had passed since they'd eaten lunch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, it should be pretty nice. It's not like my mum and dad to push the boat out like this," replied Robin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't sound convinced."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's a ruby wedding, Cormoran. It's not going to be strobe lights and tequila slammers. But it'll be nice enough."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike didn't reply. Robin waited a few seconds, and then glanced over at him; he was looking at her intently. Robin laughed. "What?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My aunt always said that things are as fun as you make them. We could find some way to liven it up. I'm sure they'll give us tequila slammers if we ask," he said, grinning playfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> ask," said Robin in a mock-stern voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spoilsport," muttered Strike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin felt a little thrill at the realisation that she was taking a playful, teasing Strike home to her family. She had wondered whether he would be his usual surly self; but then again, she thought, that version of him was rare these days, at least in her presence. He had become lighter and more open since her birthday, and their most recent evenings in the pub had been nothing short of joyous. Both partners were comfortable with the other; they had laughed, and told stories, and enjoyed each other's company more than they ever had with another person. And then, of course, Strike had given her a gorgeous pair of earrings to thank her for five years of partnership.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin knew that Strike had been nervous when he'd given them to her; something about the set of his jaw, the mindless movements of his hands. She knew him well enough to know that his explanation of the five aquamarines' significance was rehearsed. She'd watched him stumble through it, thanked him for the gift, and hugged him tenderly, but she tried not to think about that hug too much, or what it might have led to if she'd had the courage to do what she'd wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin remembered how Strike's hands had rested on her spine, his chest pressed against hers; she had been able to feel his warm breath on the skin beneath her ear. As she'd wrapped her arms around him, he'd turned his head a tiny fraction towards hers, and her fingers had compulsively curled into the hair at the back of his neck. She knew that that turn of his head had thrilled her, excited her; she'd almost felt the idea of kissing her rush through his mind. But he hadn't, and she hadn't either; the missed opportunity had rankled for weeks afterwards, and only now was Robin beginning to acknowledge that this weekend might provide another opportunity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wondered whether she would have the nerve; perhaps in a quiet moment, sitting at their deserted dinner table while everyone else was dancing. Perhaps Strike would lean towards her, say something; he'd have to get close, to be heard over the music. He'd whisper in her ear, and she'd shiver as his gaze moved down to her mouth… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"- you going to tell me, then?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin jumped and the rev counter protested; she admonished herself fiercely. If she didn't concentrate on the road, she'd get them both killed before they could ever set foot in the damn hotel. She shook her head and rolled open the window a fraction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry, what did you say?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you going to tell me about it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin blushed. "About what?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike rolled his eyes. "You've only mentioned it about twenty times. The dress."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Have I?" Robin glanced sideways at him, and he was smirking at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know you have." He continued to look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If they were friends, she would tell him. If they were heading off to a party as colleagues and nothing more; if the weekend didn't represent anything to either of them but companionship and merriment, she would tell him. If she had no more on her mind than dinner and dancing, if she hadn't spent the last month dreaming of the way Strike might look at her when he walked her back to her hotel room, her jewelled heels on the plush hotel carpet, the smell of perfume and pheromones in the air; if all she ever wanted from him was his mind and not his body, she would tell him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not telling you," replied Robin. "You'll see it tonight."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike was looking at her with something like mischief in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't wait."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Robin guided the Land Rover up the sweeping, gravelled drive of Grantley Hall, feeling a little self-conscious of the old car's loud rattle in such stately surroundings. But a smiling young attendant pointed her in the direction of the car park, and she headed that way, spotting her mother waiting for her on the steps of the hotel's Japanese garden. Robin found a space, killed the engine, and glanced at Strike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Looks like we've been ambushed already."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Strike could respond, Linda was marching over to the car; Robin threw the door open with a quiet sigh. But Linda met her daughter with an enveloping hug, and Robin swallowed her surprise and returned it happily. The women broke apart, smiled at each other and then turned at the same moment. Strike had retrieved both bags from the car and was standing a few feet away, his expression neutral. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello, Cormoran," said Linda.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello," replied Strike. Robin noted with amusement that he probably didn't know whether he should be calling her mother Mrs Ellacott. She tried not to laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm glad you could make it. You should enjoy this place," Linda added. "It's got a Michelin star, you know."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It must be costing you a fortune, Mum," said Robin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, we thought we might as well do it now. We might be too old to enjoy it by our fiftieth. Anyway, I'll show you where to check in, shall I?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linda turned and began to lead the way back around to the main entrance. Strike and Robin followed, the distance between them shrinking to mere inches as they walked. Robin held out her hand to take her suitcase, but Strike merely shook his head and kept walking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My mum's onto you," Robin muttered, so that Linda couldn't hear. "She knows you're only here for the food."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then she doesn't know me at all," replied Strike. He dropped his voice and looked at Robin out of the corner of his eye. "I'm here for you."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Little nod to drunken flirty dancing fic or whatever it is now referred to as! (It's called Robin's Birthday Meal if you fancy reading about tequila slammers 🤣)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ivory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Spake in mine ear her voice: "And didst thou dream,</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>This could be buried? This could be sleep?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>And love be thrall to death! Nay, whatso seem,</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Have faith, dear heart; this is the thing that is!"</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss.</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma Lazarus, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Assurance</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike hung up the phone, satisfied that his arrangement still seemed to be in place. He added the pickup time to the text he'd drafted, and sent it; he felt an uncharacteristic swell of nerves as he pictured the end result.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The response came in:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>No worries, mate. I'll go and get them at five.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike sent an affirmative reply and set his phone down. He was grateful for his confidant's willingness to help with his issue; having been driven here by Robin in a car he couldn't handle, Strike had no way of collecting the item he'd reserved. Stephen had been surprisingly agreeable to helping out, and Strike suspected that Robin might have made contact, hoping that her brother would reach out to the partner she wanted to grow closer to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike was no longer under any illusion about the nature of his relationship with Robin. He'd spent a long time thinking about her over the past few months, weighing the options in his mind. The first was not to act: to simply continue living in the agonising limbo they were in, working their cases and denying their feelings. Strike knew this option well; he'd been utilising it for years, ever since the first glimmer of attraction had turned into deep affection for her, and he'd used beer and other relationships to attempt to drown it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the second option, the only other option, was the one he'd chosen. He'd chosen it in October, despite having taken Robin home and left her there with no more than the feel of his lips on her cheek and the champagne cork she'd slipped into her handbag. It had taken the entire journey back to Denmark Street and hours into the early morning to make his decision, momentous as it was. But by dawn he knew: change was coming. Either she said no, and their partnership was damaged forever, or she said yes. Strike could no longer live without hearing her answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he knew that Robin harboured some fondness for him, too. He had seen the look in her eyes sometimes when she thought he wasn't watching, when she made the mistake of believing that he could ever take his eyes off her when they were together. He lived for that look, and the more he got it, the more he wanted it; Robin's admiration had become a secret addiction that he had no intention of trying to break. Strike wasn't too proud to admit his weaknesses, and it was remarkable how quickly Robin had placed herself among them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike made one last pass around the room, depositing his toiletries in the bathroom and closing the wardrobe door on his clothes, and left. A few steps along the quiet corridor took him to Robin's door, and he knocked softly. He supposed he was glad that they had been given adjacent rooms, although he knew that the mental image of her lying just behind their adjoining wall might make sleep rather difficult. He frowned and told himself to behave, and Robin's door swung open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hi," she said brightly. "Room ok?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, it's great," replied Strike. He glanced behind her and into the room; she had spread an array of bottles and jars out on the dressing table, but Strike was amused to see that the dress was still zipped into its opaque carrier, hanging on the front of the wardrobe. Robin was looking at him with a knowing smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I knew you'd try to get a glimpse," she said, shaking her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah, well. Not long to go now. Do you have to get ready, or do you fancy a drink in the bar?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin looked surprised but pleased. "What time is it, four ish?" She looked at her phone. "Yeah, I've got time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stepped out, locking her door behind her, and they walked together towards the lifts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's easy! Come on."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin did it again: hands together, fingers interlocked, and a twist. She wiggled her fingers playfully at him, and Strike laughed at the glee in her expression. He tried again and succeeded only in getting his fingers knotted up. Robin laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's - how are you doing that?" Strike asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're using the wrong fingers. Look," Robin reached over and placed her hand over the back of his, guiding him; Strike stopped moving and looked at her. She gave a faint, breathy laugh and sat back in her seat, picking up her coffee and taking a sip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, maybe you need practice. I thought you'd be more dexterous than that, Strike," she joked, watching him over the rim of her coffee cup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not a fair example," said Strike, eyes glinting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What would be a fair example?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze was teasing but burning, too: Strike opened his mouth to speak - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Rob!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephen and Jenny were striding across the lounge, Jenny bouncing Annabel on her hip. Annabel raised her arms over her head and babbled nonsense keenly in Jenny's ear. Stephen smiled at his daughter, and Robin felt a surge of affection for her brother and his family, and stood to greet them all. Strike shook hands, kissed Jenny's cheek, and waved at the baby from a distance. Jenny settled herself in one of the bucket seats around their table, and Stephen looked meaningfully at Strike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Going to run that errand now. D'you want to come? Make sure it's… right?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, definitely." He turned to Robin. "All right if I meet you later? I'll come and pick you up again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, fine," she said, embarrassed in front of Stephen, but glad Strike was offering to escort her to the party rather than meet her there. She narrowed her eyes. "What are you up to?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike hesitated for a brief second, and then stepped forward. He took Robin's hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back of it before she had time to react. He smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not telling you. You'll see it tonight," he whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin blushed furiously as she smiled, and Strike enjoyed watching the colour rise in her cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't wait," she replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike kissed her hand once more and then released it gently back to her side. He turned, and Stephen was looking tactfully away, towards the exit and the corridor beyond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's go," said Strike. He walked purposefully towards the doors, only glancing back once to see Jenny's raised eyebrows and Robin's poorly concealed delight as she began to field questions from her sister in law.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Robin stepped back from the mirror and sprayed perfume in a wide circle around her neck and shoulders. She admired the aquamarine earrings against the deep maroon dress; the effect was understated but elegant, and Robin was pleased with her choices. She'd pinned her hair up in a bouquet of loose curls, small tendrils at the sides adding a romantic softness to the style.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Anticipation had been building for hours, and she allowed herself a moment to give in to it. She hadn't yet touched a drop of alcohol, but she felt tipsy with pure feminine excitement, and she wondered when she'd last felt this way over a man. She figured, in truth, that she probably never had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A single knock on the door; Robin's eyes flicked open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Come in," she called.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door swung in, and Strike appeared on the threshold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was wearing a jet black tuxedo, a crisp white shirt, and no tie; the shirt was open at the collar, revealing a hint of golden skin and a smattering of black hair. Robin faced him, her eyes trailing down the satin lapels to his tailored waist and back up again. She swallowed as she registered the way he was looking at her: intense, hungry, as though he'd already ravished her in his mind. Robin felt like the power of speech had deserted her, and a still moment passed between them. Strike recovered first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wow," he said softly. He walked slowly into the room, his eyes never leaving hers. Robin smiled bashfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wow, yourself. Is that what you were doing with Stephen?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," said Strike, still moving towards her. "I rented it. I know I can't do you justice, but I wanted to at least try."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin felt ridiculously touched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You… I appreciate it," she breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm glad." Strike grinned, and Robin smiled back; a little of the tension eased, and Robin risked a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Before we go down, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what I did earlier, in front of Stephen," ventured Strike. "I didn't want to embarrass you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin felt a jolt of panic; that moment had given her the delicious anticipation she'd been revelling in all evening. It had given her the sure knowledge that tonight wasn't just about friendship and frivolity. Was he retracting it now? His face was difficult to read, but he seemed to be waiting for her to speak; she had the sense that what she said now might prove pivotal. She gathered her nerve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You didn't embarrass me," whispered Robin. "And I'm not sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strike closed the distance between them with one careful step. He reached out a tentative hand and brushed the hair lightly back from the side of her head, exposing her earlobe and canting his head to the side to look. Robin shivered at the feel of his fingertips on her skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They look good on you," he murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin couldn't breathe, but there was something she needed more than air right now; she looked up at him, ready to throw her cards on the table and beg him to kiss her. But Strike was right there with her; his gaze melted into hers like honey, and he dipped his head towards her as she closed her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll muss you up," he murmured against her skin, as his mouth grazed across her cheekbone and landed under her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No!" said Robin. "I mean, yes. I don't care," she breathed. She felt Strike's grin against her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There's no makeup here, is there?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And before Robin could respond, Strike dropped his mouth to her neck and kissed her tenderly; she let out a moan as her head fell to the side, and Strike's hand came up to cradle it. His tongue laved along her skin, his lips caressing her: Robin felt her knees go weak, and she gripped the edge of the dressing table behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We need to go," Strike murmured, his head still buried in the crook of her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, we don't," groaned Robin. Strike raised his head and looked at her; her eyes were heated, her lips parted and red. "We can be a little late."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, we can't," said Strike, and he pulled away, smiling wickedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Come on," he said playfully, pulling her by the hand away from the table and towards the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Strike!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robin let out an exhilarated laugh and allowed him to lead her out into the corridor and down the stairs.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Paper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Then there's the two</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>of us. This word</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>is far too short for us</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Margaret Atwood, <em>Variations on the Word Love</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They decided to use the stairs. Perhaps they needed the time to collect themselves, or perhaps they had decided that a moment alone in a lift would provide a combustion point that neither would be able to explain away; regardless, they walked by unspoken agreement towards the wide staircase, not looking at each other.</p>
<p>As they descended, Robin began to worry. Had they just brought an atmosphere of tension with them to an event that would already be peppered with awkward questions and assumptions from her family? Robin hadn't known how she was going to answer those questions, and she knew that she would now find responding even more difficult; she could feel the heat rising in her powdered cheeks just thinking of Strike's mouth on her, his big hand cradling her head. She didn't know whether she ought to feel embarrassed that he'd managed to turn her on wildly in three seconds flat.</p>
<p>"Are you ok?" Strike asked her. She looked up at him, unsure. Was she ok? </p>
<p>"Yes," she replied. </p>
<p>They reached the bottom of the staircase and glimpsed the entrance to the Grantley Suite in the distance. Strike stopped moving and looked straight at Robin. There was a twinkle in his eye that brought forth a worrying surge of affection.</p>
<p>"Come on, Ellacott. Get it together," he teased. Robin fought back a gasp, but couldn't resist the smile that spread across her face. Strike was grinning at her, and Robin knew he was trying to make her laugh, to put her at ease; he'd done it before when he'd noticed small twinges of discomfort in her. It was the knowledge that he cared enough, and knew her well enough, to even have a strategy for this eventuality that calmed Robin more than anything else. </p>
<p>"Are you ready to face my family?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>"Do you think… if someone asks, what should I…?" Robin trailed off, but she could tell that Strike understood her.</p>
<p>"I don't mind what you call me. Go with whatever you feel is right," he said calmly. "I'll be interested to hear, myself."</p>
<p>The twinkle was back. Robin smiled self-consciously.</p>
<p>"One last question, before we do this," Strike said, his gaze suddenly intense. "Still not sorry?"</p>
<p>Robin's eyes locked onto his, and she felt all the tumult of the last few weeks of pining, the last few hours of preparation, the last few minutes of passion: everything rolled together and hit her afresh. She didn't regret even a second of it, besides perhaps the instant when he'd pulled away from her. She sighed happily.</p>
<p>"Not at all," she replied.</p>
<p>Strike's triumphant expression stayed in her mind as he held his arm out to her and she took it, linking her arm lightly through his and nestling into his side. They walked together towards the doors, beaming smiles on both their faces as they floated into the party.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Robin!" </p>
<p>Robin's head whipped around; she barely suppressed a groan as she saw the woman striding towards them, a large glass of red wine clutched in her hand. Robin took a sip of her champagne, thankful for the waiters that had handed her and Strike a flute each as soon as they'd crossed the threshold. Strike had downed his almost in one and expressed an intention to go to the bar, but Martin had swung by and pressed a bottle of San Miguel into his hand, ignoring Strike's shocked expression and calling out a fleeting hello to Robin on his way back to his friends. Robin braced herself as the woman reached her.</p>
<p>"Hi, Auntie May," she said, allowing herself to be kissed.</p>
<p>"Robin, my dear, you look like the belle of the ball. Have you seen your mum yet? She's broken a finger."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>Strike looked around, concerned; Robin was confused. She'd waved to her mother on entering the room, and she didn't remember seeing a brace or bandage.</p>
<p>"Yes, your father told her that she could fix it on Monday. Rather a laissez-faire attitude if you ask me, but there you are. Good evening, young man," she said, turning to Strike. "You must be Matthew."</p>
<p>Robin felt her stomach drop like a stone; she refused to look at Strike, who seemed stock-still beside her.</p>
<p>"No, Auntie May, you met Matthew, remember? And - I divorced him. This is Cormoran."</p>
<p>"Oh." Auntie May's expression was comical; she looked Strike up and down, subjecting him to a blatant assessment. "Nobody ever tells me anything. Why did you divorce him? Was he a damp squib?"</p>
<p>Robin felt Strike shift slightly. She risked a glance out of the corner of her eye; he was clearly working hard not to laugh.</p>
<p>"Er, in a manner of speaking, yes," said Robin.</p>
<p>Auntie May grinned conspiratorially and leaned towards Robin.</p>
<p>"Then you did right getting rid, my love, life is far too short. I suppose this one's better, is he?"</p>
<p>Robin felt her cheeks redden and didn't answer, but Auntie May didn't seem to notice. She laid her hand on Strike's forearm and gripped with surprising strength.</p>
<p>"You look after her, young man."</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am," said Strike quietly.</p>
<p>She strode away, and Robin looked at Strike with something like apology in her eyes. Despite his earlier words she still didn't know how to label their situation, and she cringed inwardly at the realisation that Auntie May would probably now be instigating an elaborate game of Chinese whispers that began with Strike being Robin's new husband.</p>
<p>"I haven't been called young man in a long time. I quite liked it," teased Strike.</p>
<p>Robin laughed. "I need more champagne."</p>
<p>"Well, I promised a little old lady I'd look after you. Though I'm not sure getting you alcohol constitutes looking after you -"</p>
<p>"- it definitely does."</p>
<p>"Then your wish is my command." </p>
<p>He took her arm once more and led her towards the bar. Robin enjoyed the sensation of being connected to him far too much to notice the curious stares of her family members following them across the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Strike and Robin settled themselves into two leather seats in the corner of the bar area, and there began a steady stream of party guests ambling over to greet them. They had thought they were tucked away, but they hadn't considered the fact of Strike being the shiny new penny, and Strike supposed he ought not be surprised that Robin's relatives all seemed to share her inquisitive nature.</p>
<p>Strike watched as Robin placed herself between him and the questions that flew at him like darts; she intercepted curiosities about his family and deflected asides about his fame. Strike listened as she changed subjects, feigned interest, and lied about the reason she was no longer married to the local boy they knew. Only when her parents sauntered over did she seem to relax; she greeted them with a genuine smile, and they pulled up chairs.</p>
<p>"Are you enjoying yourselves?" asked Linda.</p>
<p>"It's lovely. Are you ok, Mum? Auntie May said you broke a finger."</p>
<p>Linda rolled her eyes. "I broke a nail, as I told her clearly." She showed her daughter the midnight blue nail that had snapped, leaving it significantly shorter than the others. Strike snorted with laughter, and Michael Ellacott looked at him with shared amusement. Robin turned to her father.</p>
<p>"She's been telling people you're an uncaring husband!"</p>
<p>"What else is new?" joked Michael.</p>
<p>"You sure you don't want to come back to the house after? We're having a full English in the morning and going for a walk," offered Linda.</p>
<p>Robin would have admitted it to nobody, but there was nothing that could have compelled her, now, to give up the privacy and confidentiality her hotel room had to offer. She glanced at Strike; he looked relaxed and happy, waiting for her answer. She felt a strange urge to giggle as she realised she was making Strike choose between good food and… well, she thought, they could always go out for breakfast. She wondered if Strike would be amused or alarmed at her frank thoughts. </p>
<p>"No, Mum. Thanks, but we've paid for the rooms here. Might as well use them."</p>
<p>Robin noticed Strike's surreptitious glance in her direction.</p>
<p>"Well, if you change your mind. Anyway, the dinner's going to be announced soon. You're with us, table one. See you there."</p>
<p>Linda stood and leaned over to hug her daughter. She lingered for a second.</p>
<p>"You smell like him," she whispered in Robin's ear, and pulled away.</p>
<p>"Mum!" </p>
<p>Linda gave a playful smirk and a half wave, and allowed her husband to lead her back to their guests.</p>
<p>Strike looked at Robin's mortified face. "What?"</p>
<p>"Nothing."</p>
<p>Martin arrived and filled Linda's vacated seat, dropping himself into it like he'd been on his feet for hours. He clutched a bottle of beer and had already loosened the knot of his tie. He looked uncomfortable in his blue suit.</p>
<p>"Hi, Mart," said Robin.</p>
<p>"Thanks for the beer, mate. I'll get you one," said Strike.</p>
<p>Martin lifted his bottle in a faint salute. His air of awkwardness increased.</p>
<p>"Robs, have you - have you been telling people stuff about your - your sex life?"</p>
<p>Robin's face fell as she looked at Strike; he reached across and gripped her hand instinctively. </p>
<p>"It's nobody's business, Martin," he said. </p>
<p>Martin eyed him askance. "I don't mean you. And I don't want to know. I mean - Auntie May's been telling people Matt was no good - you know -"</p>
<p>Robin's free hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she paused there for a second, the scene frozen. But then she burst into giggles, and both men smiled as they watched her attempts to control the peals of laughter, her fingers dabbing at the corners of her eyes. </p>
<p>"For fuck's sake," she said finally. "No, I didn't say that. I'll have to go and tell her to stop."</p>
<p>Martin looked relieved. "It's all right, I'll get Mum to have a word. Mum's already told her not to put Cormoran on her Christmas cake list."</p>
<p>"Christmas <em>cake</em> list? Not card list?" said Strike.</p>
<p>Robin laughed. "She's got a list of people who she makes Christmas cakes for. She starts in about August, so the fruit's good and sozzled," explained Robin. Strike turned to Martin.</p>
<p>"Tell her to put me back on."</p>
<p>Martin laughed. "It's a high honour, mate. You'll be on a different list if she gives you a cake and then you don't stick around."</p>
<p>"Well, I'll have to stick around then, won't I?" said Strike simply. </p>
<p>Martin laughed again, raised his bottle to Strike once more, and stood up.</p>
<p>"I'll see you later," he said, and darted back towards the bar.</p>
<p>Robin slumped back in her chair, a little dazed.</p>
<p>"You're not doing anything to dispel the rumours, you know." Her eyes were wide and accusing, but she was secretly delighted. Her hand was still clasped in Strike's, and only now did she properly register the warmth of his skin under her fingers.</p>
<p>"Do you want me to?" His gaze burned into her, and she sat forward, squeezing his hand lightly.</p>
<p>"Not really." </p>
<p>"Should I pretend I didn't kiss you?"</p>
<p>Robin's hand twitched. She pressed her thighs together beneath the dress.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>Strike leaned closer.</p>
<p>"Should I pretend I don't want to kiss you again?"</p>
<p>"What happened to mussing me up?" she teased breathlessly.</p>
<p>"What happened to you not caring?"</p>
<p>"I still don't," she admitted. "But we might get carried away, and there are a lot of people here."</p>
<p>Strike's wicked grin sent shivers straight down Robin's spine.</p>
<p>"Later, then," he suggested.</p>
<p>"Yes," replied Robin, keeping her eyes fixed on his as she took a welcome sip of champagne.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. China</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>I was wiser too than you had expected</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>For I knew all along you were mine</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dorothea Lasky, <em>Poem to an Unnameable Man</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Robin arranged herself in her seat with as much grace as she could manage; her preoccupation with Strike's hand resting at the small of her back was playing havoc with her balance. She expected him to remove it once they were both seated, but he didn't. He shifted closer and rested his arm across the back of her chair, his fingers drifting lightly up and down her spine. Robin knew that anyone sitting behind her would see. She also knew she was far beyond caring.</p>
<p>Strike took an open bottle of red wine from the middle of the table and filled both their glasses. Robin thanked him quietly, taking a sip of rich barolo and feeling the strange, confused sensation she had often felt immediately after waking early for surveillance, when the dreams that clung on as she rose from her slumber were briefly more real to her than the day ahead. </p>
<p>"Ok?" Strike asked, gazing sideways at her.</p>
<p>There was a steely glint in her blue eyes as she looked back, inviting and daring him in equal measure. "Yep," she replied, her Yorkshire accent expanding into the single word so that she sounded adorably cocky. An image of a woman with purple hair and ripped fishnet tights popped into Strike's mind. He grinned.</p>
<p>The wine was excellent, the food better; Strike and Robin had both chosen the rack of lamb, and Strike was interested to see Robin tuck in with almost as much enthusiasm as he did. Conversation flowed around the table, Robin's younger brothers jibing amicably at one another, Linda firing occasional reprimands at them in good humour. Robin felt her sense of unreality fade, to be replaced by a feeling of belonging that shouldn't have been surprising, but was. She knew that she'd been expecting her family to be difficult, but sitting with them now, with Strike by her side and no denials about why he was here, she was happy. </p>
<p>Strike graciously allowed her to finish her chocolate and coconut torte before resuming what felt like slow, teasing torture. He kept one hand connected to her throughout the serving of coffee and petits fours; he rubbed circles on her back and brushed across her shoulder, watching goosebumps rise on her skin and her face flood with colour. Robin couldn't help her eyes being dragged back to his face again and again, despite trying to concentrate on what her tablemates were saying to her; each time, he was watching her with unmistakable heat.</p>
<p>As the coffee cups were cleared away, Michael Ellacott got to his feet. A hush fell over the room and someone muted the soft music that had been playing in the background. Robin watched her father take a small piece of paper from his pocket. Strike shifted his chair an inch closer to Robin's and took her hand. </p>
<p>"Linda and I would just like to thank you all for being here. It's almost forty years to the day since we were married, and I made a speech in a room like this. Although it wasn't nearly as nice as this, was it, Linda? Things were different then. The back room of the Bay Horse was swish to us."</p>
<p>A smattering of polite laughter swept across the room. Strike's thumb swept across the back of Robin's hand.</p>
<p>"Some of you were there, and some of you have met us since, and some of you weren't born yet," he raised his glass at his children, sitting in front of him, "but all of you are important to us. That's what makes a marriage, and a family, and a life: it's the people you share it with. We're very lucky."</p>
<p>Michael looked at his wife, and Robin was astounded to see his eyes sparkle with the suggestion of tears. She had never seen her father cry; he was a typical Yorkshireman, taciturn and blunt, and she was touched at the uncharacteristic display of emotion. </p>
<p>"You get to a certain number of years of marriage and people start asking what the secret is. So if you youngsters want some advice from an old man, here it is. There aren't any secrets, and that's the advice. Keep no secrets, tell no lies. Sometimes it's bloody hard work -"</p>
<p>"Careful," said Linda, and laughter rang through the room again.</p>
<p>"But it's bloody well worth it. And we're grateful to you all for helping us along. Cheers."</p>
<p>He raised his glass, pausing as a hundred guests copied him. He drank, and the room drank in unison; Robin looked at Strike as she sipped, and he looked unusually serious. </p>
<p>As Michael sat down, louder music began to issue from the other end of the room, and Robin saw several waiters hurry forward to move tables, clearing a dance floor she hadn't previously noticed. People began to leave their seats, sit at other tables, visit the bar; Robin saw Jenny disappear with a large messenger bag slung over one arm and Annabel clutched in the other. Robin took a sip of her wine and turned to Strike. His hand still covered hers, and she moved her little finger gently against his.</p>
<p>"Nice speech," he said. He'd finished his wine and was holding a bottle of Birra Moretti that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Robin looked around and saw Stephen at the bar, a tray of bottles in front of him, sending Jonathan out with handfuls of them to dole out to their friends. Robin shook her head, amused; it seemed that her brothers were conspiring to turn this sedate event into a more raucous affair. She wondered how long it would take for Jonathan to start insisting on Jägerbombs. </p>
<p>"Yes, it was," replied Robin. "It's not like my dad to get choked up."</p>
<p>"He did a good job. I don't suppose it's easy speaking in front of all these people."</p>
<p>"No," agreed Robin. She thought of her wedding day, and Matthew's nervousness at having to write and then give a speech; she didn't remember any of it.</p>
<p>"What do you think of his advice?"</p>
<p>Robin looked into Strike's eyes, and realised he was still talking about her father's speech. He hadn't let go of her hand, and Robin felt breathless as she considered that they were holding hands, in public, in full view of her entire family.</p>
<p>"No secrets, no lies? Seems like a good philosophy. Although it's pretty much impossible for us," said Robin.</p>
<p>"Why?" Strike looked genuinely puzzled.</p>
<p>"Well, we're detectives," said Robin cautiously.</p>
<p>"Yeah, of course, dishonesty is our bread and butter at work. But just between us?"</p>
<p>Robin was overly aware of her heartbeat. "I haven't told you any lies," she said. </p>
<p>Strike smiled and brushed his thumb across the back of her hand again. "But are you keeping any secrets?"</p>
<p>Robin tried to think, but it was difficult to wrap her brain around the tingles that were effusing from the spot where he was touching her. She couldn't get the memory of his kiss out of her head; now it drifted into prominence, and Robin couldn't drag her gaze away from his mouth. She recalled the wave of weakness that had hit her as Strike's lips moved up her neck; she shivered. Strike was watching her, and she couldn't guess what he was thinking.</p>
<p>"I haven't told you that you were driving me crazy all through that meal," she murmured, leaning closer. "Does that count as a secret?"</p>
<p>"Not a secret if it's obvious."</p>
<p>Robin removed her hand from his and swatted him on the arm. He play-acted being hurt, clutching his arm.</p>
<p>"Ouch! All right, Ellacott, don't batter me," he joked.</p>
<p>"I might."</p>
<p>Robin mirrored Strike's playful smile. She took a sip of wine and looked around the room. Most people were on their feet now, and the dancefloor was filling up. Robin recognised The Tymes blaring from the speaker system, and realised her parents must have asked the DJ to start with songs from their year of marriage.</p>
<p>"What now, then? Do you want to dance?" asked Strike.</p>
<p>"I don't mind," replied Robin. "Why, would you dance with me?"</p>
<p>Strike rubbed his chin. "I might need a bit more Dutch courage, but I won't object on principle."</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"Robin," said Strike, leaning towards her. "Haven't you realised that I'd do pretty much anything to have you in my arms again?"</p>
<p>Robin closed her eyes briefly as the tingles washed over her; she felt herself falling far too fast, and she tried to get a hold of herself. She felt flustered, too warm; she needed to get out of this room. She needed, ideally, to get back to her hotel room: she pictured herself on the bed, Strike prowling towards her, with the door locked and bolted and all the time in the world… </p>
<p>"Are you ok? I'm sorry," said Strike. His cheeky demeanour had slipped slightly, and he looked almost worried. Robin smirked and leaned closer.</p>
<p>"I'd gladly spend the rest of the night in your arms," she purred.</p>
<p>"Tease," said Strike, his gaze burning into hers.</p>
<p>"I'm not kiddi-"</p>
<p>Strike pulled her by the hand, laid his other hand on the back of her neck, and kissed her.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>two floors below your fingertips still pinch</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Simon Armitage, <em>Mother Any Distance Greater Than A Single Span</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Robin's lips were warm and inviting, and Strike kissed her with gentle finesse, savouring the feeling of tiny stars shooting through his mind. One of her hands came up to caress the hair at his temple, and she trailed her palm downwards, finally resting it against the stubble on his jaw. As he kissed her the only thought he could manage was of her skin, her scent, the taste of her; his kiss was sweet and unhurried, her response equally languid.</p>
<p>Robin sighed into his mouth, and Strike was tempted, too tempted, to raise the stakes and deepen the kiss; but he drew back reluctantly and looked into her eyes. Her face was flushed and sexy as hell, and Strike worked hard to match her calm, quiet breaths.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry. I just - I couldn't wait," he murmured.</p>
<p>"Will you stop saying sorry?"</p>
<p>Robin's expression was serene; she didn't look angry with him for embarrassing her. Quite the opposite, in fact; he was fairly certain she would have been happy for him to grab her by the waist and continue where he left off. He chuckled, and she grinned in response.</p>
<p>Strike leaned back and scanned the room cautiously. While Robin checked her reflection in a small compact mirror she'd taken from her clutch bag, Strike looked over her head and saw Linda turning quickly away, and Martin looking furtive and somehow guilty. But Michael Ellacott was looking directly back at him, and Strike felt the family resemblance between Robin and her father more than he ever had before. </p>
<p>"Robin, I - I think I should go and speak to your father," he said.</p>
<p>"What? We're not in the 1950s," said Robin.</p>
<p>"I know, but - he's looking at me."</p>
<p>Robin laughed loudly, and then stopped when she saw the expression on Strike's face.</p>
<p>"Are you serious? Cormoran, are you <em>embarrassed</em>?"</p>
<p>"I'm not emb-"</p>
<p>"Oh my God, I never thought I'd see the day," joked Robin. Strike joined in with her laughter, enjoying her amusement as he realised that further protest was probably futile.</p>
<p>"Well, I'll get it over with. See you in a minute," he said, and laid a hand on her shoulder as he stood. Robin gripped it for a second, and then let him go; she picked up her bag and stood.</p>
<p>"I'll go to the ladies' and meet you back here."</p>
<p>Strike nodded and turned towards the end of the bar, where Michael was standing alone, holding the dregs of the same glass of red wine with which he'd toasted his wife. Strike reflected that he hadn't had the best luck with partners' families; Charlotte's had been initially curious as though he were a specimen in a zoo, but once they'd got over their fascination with the stranger in their midst, they had all but hated him. Tracey's mother had told her once, in Strike's hearing, that she could do better. Strike made a self-conscious attempt to smooth the back of his hair as he approached the bar.</p>
<p>"Here for a top up?" asked Michael.</p>
<p>"My shout. What are you having?" He made to take out his wallet, but Michael waved it away.</p>
<p>"Put it away, son." He gestured to the barman and ordered two double whiskies; he passed one to Strike, who accepted gratefully, and waited.</p>
<p>"I'm not going to give you a lecture, if that's what you're waiting for. My daughter can handle herself," said Michael quietly.</p>
<p>"I know she can," said Strike, and then cringed at the potential double meaning.</p>
<p>"There is something I want to say to you, though." Michael sipped his whisky and seemed to contemplate his words before he spoke. "Matt was a good partner to her, at first. I know you might not agree with me," he smiled into his glass, "but it's true. He was a good partner… until they moved to London."</p>
<p>Strike frowned. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear about Matt's competence as a boyfriend, and Strike wouldn't have said that sleeping with a mutual friend over a period of years made a good partner, but he couldn't think of a way to say either of these things without causing offence, so he drank his whisky and listened.</p>
<p>"He wanted her to be a young professional, work in the city, maybe a PA to a high-flying banker. We'd all got wind of what he wanted. My sons got annoyed at his attitude, sometimes. He had an idea in his head of who she should be." He paused, rolling the short glass in his palms. "And now you want her to be a detective."</p>
<p>Strike glanced up. Michael was smiling, but his gaze was sharp.</p>
<p>"It's what she wants too, but yes, I do."</p>
<p>"And that's up to her. But take my advice - I'm in an advisory mood tonight, maybe it's the nostalgia - make sure it stays up to her. Don't make the mistake Matt did. If you want to be with her, be with her, not who you want her to be."</p>
<p>Strike caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and he watched covertly as Robin re-entered the room and headed away from him.</p>
<p>"I've never wanted her to be anything other than who she is," said Strike quietly. "And she wouldn't stand for it if I tried."</p>
<p>"I'm extremely glad to hear it." Michael knocked back the last of his whisky. "Don't worry. It might have been forty years, but I remember how it is. Go back to her," his eyes twinkled. "And don't let Martin give you a hard time."</p>
<p>Strike laughed, and as he shook Michael's hand, he saw Linda across the room, deep in conversation with Auntie May.</p>
<p>"It's not Martin I'm worried about," muttered Strike.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Robin had emerged from the ladies', teeth brushed and makeup reapplied. As she strode down the quiet corridor and back towards the function room, she tried not to think about the conversation she now assumed was taking place about her, between Strike and her father. She entered the room, spotted them near the bar, and deliberately turned the other way. She was determined not to interfere. They were grown men; they could handle whatever they needed to in their own way. </p>
<p>She walked around the deserted tables, towards the edge of the dancefloor where her cousin, Katie, was dancing with her young son. Robin hadn't spoken to them yet, so she headed that way. She was almost there when she heard her name float towards her from a nearby table. She stalled. She'd managed to tamp down her curiosity about Strike's conversation with her father; she felt entitled to slow down to listen to this one.</p>
<p>"Don't be ridiculous, Linda. Robin's a big girl."</p>
<p>"I know that. I just worry about her. She's been through a lot."</p>
<p>"Well, she seems like she's having a whale of a time right now. I quite envy her."</p>
<p>"You what?"</p>
<p>"Oh, come off it. You're telling me you wouldn't have fancied a bit of a snog with a great bear of a man like that when you were her age?"</p>
<p>Robin was stunned to hear her mother giggle.</p>
<p>"You're terrible."</p>
<p>"Maybe so, but your Robin's not worrying half as much as you are, believe me. She's enjoying being young and I say leave her to it."</p>
<p>Robin ducked behind a passing waiter and sneaked a glance over to the table. Her mother and Auntie May were both staring unabashedly over at Strike, who seemed to have returned to his seat with a glass of whisky in hand. </p>
<p>"He looks very handsome in that suit."</p>
<p>"Yes, he does."</p>
<p>Robin smiled and turned back. She'd say hello to Katie later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Strike watched Robin walk across the crowded room towards him, the fabric of her dress swishing softly around her ankles. He had seen hundreds of women at events like this, wearing cocktail gowns and high heels, elaborate hairstyles and eyelashes painted black; but none had ever sparked in him such a powerful yearning. He wanted her undividedly: he wanted to claim her, and let the whole world know she was his. He wanted to understand every thought in her head and every dream she'd dreamed. He didn't want to change her; he just wanted to know her, to know all of her, and to know her forever.</p>
<p>She reached him and extended her hand. Strike smiled as he took it and allowed her to pull him to his feet. He looked at her quizzically, and she tipped her head to one side. </p>
<p>"You owe me a dance," she said simply.</p>
<p>"All right."</p>
<p>Robin left her bag on the table and led him by the hand onto the dancefloor. They looked at each other for a second, and then Strike pulled her into a relaxed version of the classic ballroom position, bringing their clasped hands to his chest and laying his other hand on her waist. The song was relatively upbeat, but as Robin rested her head on Strike's shoulder and they began to sway, it felt perfectly timed.</p>
<p>
  <em>I can't explain what I'm feeling, I'm lost for words…</em>
</p>
<p>"How did it go with my dad?" Robin asked.</p>
<p>"Fine. He's a very wise man."</p>
<p>"What did he say?"</p>
<p>"Nothing I don't wholeheartedly agree with." He smiled down at her. "Oh, apart from a bit about someone else that I'm choosing to ignore."</p>
<p>Robin caught his eye, but he was smiling teasingly at her and she didn't want to change the mood, so she didn't ask. She rested her head on him once again, and reflected that she could easily stay here for hours, if it weren't for the tiny flame inside her belly that wanted far, far more.</p>
<p>"Robin?"</p>
<p>"Hmm?"</p>
<p>"I haven't told you how beautiful you look," said Strike.</p>
<p>Robin blushed as she looked up at him. "You sort of have."</p>
<p>"Have I?"</p>
<p>"Yes. With your eyes," said Robin shyly. Strike smiled a slow, lazy smile that set her heart to melting.</p>
<p>"Well, my eyes weren't lying," he murmured. He lifted her hand and turned her in a slow circle, grinning at her delighted laughter and resuming their embrace when she spun back to him, her face full of open joy. </p>
<p>"I suppose you needn't have worried about what to tell people if they ask about us," said Strike.</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Well, we didn't so much tell them as show them," he said playfully.</p>
<p>"I'm not sure I follow…" </p>
<p>"Are you being obtuse?"</p>
<p>"You might need to show me again." </p>
<p>Strike felt a rush of arousal as he looked into her eyes; they were playful and challenging, and he couldn't quite believe that it was Robin in his arms, saying these words. He dropped his lips to her forehead and kissed her gently, speaking softly against her skin.</p>
<p>"Robin, if I start kissing you again," he waited until she was looking directly into his eyes, "I'm not sure I'll know how to stop."</p>
<p>"Then don't."</p>
<p>Robin's cheeks were pink, her lips parted. Her fingers trailed across the back of his neck as he looked at her, and Strike felt his fragile self control shudder. </p>
<p>Robin lifted her head. She ignored all the people dancing around her; she ignored everything but the feel of him as she pressed her lips to his. She kissed him tenderly, her lips moving slowly against his, and as her body pressed against him, the fabric of her dress made way for her exposed thigh to brush against his trouser leg. She knew she shouldn't, but she pressed closer; both arms wound around his neck, and she ran her fingers through his hair. His groan into her mouth poured fuel on her fire. She gripped harder.</p>
<p>"Robin," he groaned. His voice was soft as it caressed her name.</p>
<p>"The corridor you saw me come out of earlier," panted Robin.</p>
<p>"Yeah, what about it?"</p>
<p>"Meet me there in two minutes."</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Sapphire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>in me all that fire is repeated,</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pablo Naruda, <em>If You Forget Me</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Strike walked briskly down the quiet corridor, past the toilets and towards the lighted exit. As he approached the door, he found Robin sitting on a narrow, carpeted staircase to his left. She rose to meet him and surged forwards, gripping the lapels of his jacket. She kissed him without preamble, feverishly, as though his kiss were the first gasp of air after being deprived of breath.</p>
<p>Strike responded with reckless abandon. His fingers drove into her hair, loosening the curls he found there and raking along her scalp, sending delicious tingles down her spine. Robin's hands snaked under his suit jacket, wrapping around his firm waist and holding him to her. Her touch burned into him through the thin cotton of his shirt, and he pushed his hips forward, desperate for more contact. </p>
<p>Robin felt the bulge of his arousal against her; she trailed her fingers down his back until she was gripping his buttocks with both hands, pulling him closer, grinding his groin into her. Strike's hands moved down her neck and collarbone and then settled on either side of her ribcage. He brushed his thumbs gently across her breasts, and she gave a quiet, low moan.</p>
<p>They meshed together in a heated tangle, not caring that their clothes were becoming dishevelled, or that they could be seen at any moment; all that existed was them, and their mouths, and their desperate passion.</p>
<p>Some minutes later, Strike tore his mouth away from her lips. He found himself pressed against Robin, who was backed up against the wall; Strike wasn't entirely sure how they'd got there. "Robin," he groaned. "Robin, what are we doing?"</p>
<p>"I don't know." She looked frantically around her, checking for intruders while trying to get her breathing under control. She looked up at him with need in her eyes. "I just - I wanted -"</p>
<p>"I know. I do too," Strike assured her. He placed his hands gently on either side of her neck, and Robin closed her eyes to absorb a sudden rush of emotion. "But I want us to be alone." He rested his forehead on hers and spoke in a seductive whisper. "I want to go back to your room, lock the door, and not come out until I've tasted every last inch of you."</p>
<p>"God, Cormoran," she murmured. She looked down at his jacket, where her hands were once again on his lapels. Strike's hands stroked down her upper arms, and she sighed.</p>
<p>"You can't say things like that and not expect me to lose my mind," she whispered urgently. She looked up at him and her eyes were earnest, pleading; she'd relished his teasing, but she was suddenly afraid, and she needed him to understand the effect he was having on her. "You have me exactly where you want me, Cormoran."</p>
<p>"Not even close," he growled. "I'm not trying to mess you around." Robin gasped as she realised that he'd known exactly what she'd feared. He continued in the same deep whisper, and every nerve ending in Robin's body stood to attention. "No secrets, no lies, Robin. I want you in my arms, and I want you in my bed. But I also want you in my flat, and in our office, and in my life. I want you everywhere."</p>
<p>Robin stared at him, and he felt her trying to gauge his sincerity.</p>
<p>"You think I want to just fuck you and leave?" he asked bluntly.</p>
<p>"No," said Robin quickly. "I know you wouldn't do that."</p>
<p>Strike dipped his head and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering so that she felt his breath on her cheekbone. "So you don't think I'm sure?"</p>
<p>"Sure of what?" she challenged. Her head tilted back slightly as she savoured his kiss. Her voice was soft and breathy.</p>
<p>Strike moved around and kissed her other cheek. "That I love you." </p>
<p>Robin's eyes stayed closed for several seconds, and Strike didn't know whether to break the silence or wait. But then she opened her eyes and smiled at him, relief and adoration in her gaze.</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"Yes," he murmured against her skin.</p>
<p>"How long?"</p>
<p>"Years," he admitted. It didn't feel so difficult now.</p>
<p>"I thought you weren't keeping secrets from me," teased Robin. She wound her arms around his neck and raised her lips up to his in silent invitation.</p>
<p>"Not a secret if it's obvious," he murmured, and accepted her invitation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the time Strike and Robin had been away, the Grantley Suite seemed to have mutated into something resembling a larger, better-smelling version of a nightclub. Jonathan had somehow persuaded the DJ to play a Faithless medley and the detectives re-entered to the sound of a pulsing bassline. More overhead lights had been switched off, so that the bank of coloured beams that lit up the dancefloor were almost the only illumination. Robin's stomach flipped as she remembered her fantasy of a quiet, dark corner with Strike; it seemed incredible that the thought still excited her despite what they'd just done. </p>
<p>"How soon do you think we can leave?" murmured Robin as they walked past the dancefloor.</p>
<p>"Eager?" Strike teased, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p>"I don't know what you mean," said Robin blithely.</p>
<p>"Well, we can leave now, if you want."</p>
<p>"It's only eleven. I don't think even Auntie May's left yet. We don't exactly have a long journey home."</p>
<p>"True," agreed Strike. "Want me to pretend I'm leathered?"</p>
<p>Robin giggled. They reached their empty table and sat down, chairs facing outward so they could watch the dancers. </p>
<p>"Wouldn't that just mean you going up, and me staying here?"</p>
<p>"Hmm, maybe." He rubbed his chin. "Could I convince them I'm too drunk to find my room?"</p>
<p>"I'd still come back down once I'd got you settled. What about us both having an early start tomorrow?"</p>
<p>"In Yorkshire? We work in London," said Strike.</p>
<p>"One of the waiters has hired us. To find his missing dog," Robin suggested.</p>
<p>"Not urgent enough. What about a meeting, right now, by video call?"</p>
<p>"After wine and whisky? They know we're more professional than that."</p>
<p>"All right. I've got it. We've both signed up to an online yoga class."</p>
<p>"And it starts at midnight?" asked Robin sceptically.</p>
<p>"It's being streamed from Bali," said Strike.</p>
<p>"I don't think they'd believe you'd do yoga."</p>
<p>"Ouch."</p>
<p>"Ok, how about this: we're learning Dutch for a case and we have to do our daily exercises, or the Duolingo owl will get us."</p>
<p>"What's the duel 'n' go owl?"</p>
<p>"Du-o-lin-go," Robin enunciated. "You don't know what Duolingo… never mind."</p>
<p>"Knowing your mum, she'd learn Dutch and test you."</p>
<p>"I'm not sure how you know her that well but yes, she would," joked Robin.</p>
<p>"Well, how about this," said Strike quietly, leaning forward. "We'll tell them the truth."</p>
<p>"Which is what?" asked Robin coyly.</p>
<p>"That I'm going to take you upstairs, peel that dress off you, and kiss you everywhere." Robin blushed and played absent-mindedly with a strand of her hair, and Strike continued. "If you want me to, of course."</p>
<p>"Cocky," said Robin. Strike raised an eyebrow and Robin leaned even closer. "You know damn well I want you to."</p>
<p>"I had an inkling, from the way you were grabbing me in there," he whispered. </p>
<p>"Are you complaining?"</p>
<p>"Don't be absurd."</p>
<p>Robin smiled and looked down at her hands. She felt a little dazed by the speed at which her life seemed to have changed; she had begun the weekend as a single woman harbouring feelings for her seemingly oblivious colleague. She wasn't sure about her relationship status now, but if nothing else, she could at least be certain that Strike was no longer oblivious. The thought made her smile.</p>
<p>"Did you mean - you know - what you said?" she asked tentatively.</p>
<p>"I meant everything I said to you," said Strike. He was calm as he looked at her, and she heard no artifice in his voice. "But you know, I still don't know how you feel about - about this." He swallowed. "About me."</p>
<p>"What do you think?" she replied.</p>
<p>"I'd rather know what you think," said Strike cautiously.</p>
<p>Robin stroked his cheek gently. "I think if you don't already know that I'm madly in love with you, then you are the dumbest detective alive."</p>
<p>Strike laughed loudly and squeezed her hand.</p>
<p>"Come on," Robin said matter-of-factly, and stood. She gathered her things and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "We'll think of an excuse in the morning."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Linen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Ces serments, ces parfums, ces baisers infinis,</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Renaîtront-ils d'un gouffre interdit à nos sondes,</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Comme montent au ciel les soleils rajeunis</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Après s'être lavés au fond des mers profondes?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Ô serments! ô parfums! ô baisers infinis!</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles Baudelaire, <em>Le Balcon</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their footsteps made no sound on the soft carpet as they walked the short distance from the lift to their rooms. Robin got to her keycard first; she held it up, a question, and Strike nodded. She swiped the card and pushed the door open. Stepping over the threshold, Robin felt the silence of the room envelop her like a blanket. </p>
<p>Strike closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He was exactly where he'd been desperate to be all night, and yet he'd be lying if he pretended he wasn't feeling a certain amount of pressure. This moment had been building for a long time, and Robin deserved perfection; but how could he make it perfect when he kept losing his control? </p>
<p>"I need a minute," said Robin, raising his hand to her lips and kissing it gently.</p>
<p>"Ok," replied Strike. He took a seat in one of two velvet bucket chairs by the window, and watched as she disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. He poured himself water from a glass bottle on the coffee table and sipped it slowly, preoccupied with the thought that she might be removing the dress, but that he'd rather like to be the one to do the job.</p>
<p>Five minutes later, Robin emerged. She was still wearing the maroon dress, but her face and hair were different: she was still wearing makeup, but she'd done something to soften the effect. She looked more like the Robin he saw every day. She'd taken her hair down from its arrangement, and her golden curls now draped softly over her shoulders. Strike felt a clenching in his chest that was almost painful; he had never wanted anything so badly.</p>
<p>Strike rose from his seat. Robin pressed a button on a small black device on the dressing table, and soft music issued from a small speaker beside it; she turned down the volume and turned back to Strike. They walked slowly towards each other and met in the centre of the room. Robin's eyes were soft and her face content as she leaned towards him. Strike lifted a hand and softly grazed her earlobe with his finger and thumb, and she shivered at his touch.</p>
<p>"Robin," said Strike. </p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p>"Can I kiss you?"</p>
<p>Robin looked up at him with affection in her eyes. "Of course you can," she breathed. </p>
<p>Strike's hands came up to cradle her head, and he kissed her the way he had wanted to at the dinner table: slow, hot, savouring the electricity he felt when their lips touched. She was dynamite, and she was his; Strike felt delicious warmth rush through his veins. Robin wrapped her arms around his waist again, under the jacket, and her hands clenched his shirt reflexively as she kissed him back.</p>
<p>Robin felt heat slowly build inside her. She loved Strike's body against her, but she needed to feel more of him; she reached up to push his jacket off his shoulders. Strike realised what she wanted and released her to help, shrugging the jacket off and laying it on the chair he'd vacated. Robin's hands scrabbled at the bottom of his shirt, and she managed to pull it free from his waistband. She pushed her hands up underneath his shirt, and Strike barely suppressed a gasp. She stroked his hot chest, her hands brushing over the hair and tracing patterns on his skin. He sighed, and dipped his head to rain kisses along her jaw. </p>
<p>Robin moaned as Strike's mouth moved from her jaw and down the side of her neck. His tongue teased her, leaving fire in its wake; she suddenly needed more friction, and she pressed herself into him, hoping he would understand. The flame that had burned in her all evening seemed to be quickly spiralling out of control; she raked her fingernails over his skin and lowered her hands to his groin. Strike growled and pressed her backwards, against the dressing table, his body flush against hers.</p>
<p>Robin danced her fingers over Strike's hardening bulge, and she was rewarded with a harsh groan, low in his throat. His hands came up to caress her body; he ran them slowly up both sides of her, from her hipbones to her ribcage. The soft fabric of the dress rumpled as he moved upwards, and he relished the sensation of her body under layers of chiffon. He brushed his thumbs again over her breasts, and she made a small moan that spurred him on. He cupped both breasts through the fabric, and Robin lifted her arms around his neck and took his mouth with hers.</p>
<p>Strike massaged her flesh through the dress and what he suspected was a lace bra; she moaned as his fingers circled, breathing her arousal against his mouth. Her hands dropped back down to feel his growing erection and then moved back up his shirt, unfastening the buttons as she went. Strike felt his pulse quicken as she pushed the sides of his shirt apart, dipped her head and licked his sternum softly. She trailed her cool tongue up his collarbone and into the hollow of his throat, and Strike had no way of preventing the soft moans that fell from his lips.</p>
<p>"Up," he growled, and half lifted her by the hips, so that she sat on the edge of the dressing table. The glass bottles rattled as he rocked into her, his hips grinding against her core. Robin let out a whimper as she felt how hard he was; it set off image after image in her mind, all of which involved him possessing her completely.</p>
<p>"I said I wanted to taste you," whispered Strike.</p>
<p>"Mmm," mumbled Robin. She was clinging to him, pulling him into her, demanding more of him with every part of her body.</p>
<p>"Is that what you want?" he asked urgently. Robin's gaze snapped onto his.</p>
<p>"Yes," she whispered. "I want your mouth on me."</p>
<p>Strike groaned and pulled away from her. Robin made a sound of dismay, but he was only stepping back to reach for the empty chair; he dragged it over, placing it directly in front of Robin. He guided her high-heeled feet onto its arms, and the implication of needing footrests properly hit her; he was going to do this, now. She felt a wave of heat over her skin.</p>
<p>Robin turned her head to the side and found herself looking into the dressing table's mirrors; they were turned inwards, so that she saw her anticipation reflected on both sides. She watched as three Strikes pushed her skirts to the side and slowly slid away her underwear, his fingers trailing down the insides of her thighs. She watched the flush of wanton desire spread across her cheeks as his mouth made contact with her flesh; her head fell back and she let out a strangled cry as his tongue dipped into her. </p>
<p>She was heated, wet, and incoherent with lust; her head rocked to the side as Strike's wicked tongue licked in and around her folds. He traced circles around her clitoris, his every movement sending spikes of pleasure through her. He worked his tongue in a steady rhythm, feeling her body tighten below him, her hands fist in his hair; and then he dropped his mouth back down to her opening, and she cried out in protest. </p>
<p>Strike smiled and looked up at her face; she was staring back at him, wide-eyed, and he felt a powerful wave of tenderness towards her. He didn't break eye contact as he slid a finger inside her, watching her lips part and her brow furrow. She held his gaze for as long as she could, but he added a second finger and her eyes fluttered closed. Strike lowered his mouth to her once more, resuming his rhythm, circling his tongue around her sensitive bud.</p>
<p>Robin couldn't think, couldn't see straight; the only sensation she knew was sheer pleasure. His mouth at her core, one hand on her thigh, and oh, God, his mouth - she keened quietly as his tongue worked against her flesh, stoking the fire, building her ecstasy to breaking point: she arched her back and held down a scream as her climax shattered around her, Strike's big hand grinding into her as she rode through the aftershocks.</p>
<p>He stood and banded one arm around her back, pulling her towards him and holding her there, boneless and languid, while her breathing returned to normal. Robin looked up at him, her loud breaths only partially concealing the thundering of his heart against her cheek. She smiled softly.</p>
<p>"Bed," she instructed, lightly squeezing his forearm. Strike grinned in return.</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am," he said, and stepped back to help her off the table. </p>
<p>He brushed the hair away from the side of her face with one hand. "Do we need…?" he asked softly.</p>
<p>"No," replied Robin. "I'm on birth control." He continued to gaze at her. "And I trust you. If you trust me -"</p>
<p>"Of course I do," said Strike. </p>
<p>They moved across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, both removing their shoes, Strike his trousers and prosthesis. When he was seated in just boxers and his open shirt, Robin positioned herself between his spread knees. She took his hands in hers and pulled them up behind her neck. With a quick twist of the fastener, she undid the halter neck of her dress and guided Strike's hands to the fabric, giving him control. Strike took hold of the material and peeled it down, uncovering her porcelain skin to his hungry gaze. The dress gathered around her hips, and she gave a little wiggle to help it along. As Strike lowered it down her legs, Robin reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor on top of her discarded dress. </p>
<p>Robin stood before him, gloriously naked, and Strike couldn't fully convince himself that he wasn't dreaming. But she cupped his face and kissed him sweetly, and he ran his hands up the backs of her thighs. She shivered and laughed softly, and the music swirled around them like a warm breeze. Strike smiled and pulled Robin onto his lap, moving his kisses down her neck and listening to her soft moans.</p>
<p>Robin's hands trailed down to his lap, and she reached into his boxers to caress his hard length. It strained against the soft cotton, twitching at her touch, and Strike's eyes closed as she stroked him slowly up and down, kissing his cheeks and jawline as she went. She moved her hips shamelessly, desperate for more friction, wanting him more than she'd ever wanted anything; she was close to begging, and she began to pull his boxers down. He lifted his hips to help her, and together they managed to slide away the underwear and shirt without breaking contact with the other's skin. Robin grasped his hard shaft in both hands, and Strike gave a short growl that sent tingles down Robin's spine. </p>
<p>Strike kissed her mouth tenderly, and need overtook him; he couldn't wait any more, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her to him as he pivoted towards the bed. He laid her down beneath him, his body covering hers reverently. His arms bracketed her, either side of her beautiful face, and she looked up at him with unmistakable desire. He looked down and lined himself up. He gazed at her, still dreaming.</p>
<p>"Do you -"</p>
<p>"Stop thinking," said Robin. "Please. I - I want you," she breathed.</p>
<p>Strike held her gaze and entered her slowly, hissing out a low breath as he felt her slick heat around him. She made a sound that was part pleasure and part need, and Strike swivelled his hips in a leisurely circle. Robin's head tipped back into the pillow and her lips parted. Strike dropped his head to her breast and sucked one nipple into his mouth, and Robin mumbled incoherently. </p>
<p>Strike covered both her hands with his, interlocking their fingers and bringing them up above her head. His hips canted forwards, rolling his hard length into her, seeking the spots that rendered her speechless. She was panting softly, her head tilting slowly from side to side, and Strike had never seen a more erotic sight. He groaned and thrust into her harder. He realised he needn't have worried about making it perfect: it just was.</p>
<p>Robin was surrounded by him: his scent, his weight on top of her, the feel of his skin against hers. Her hands gripped his, and she keened without volition as Strike drove into her, hitting the spot that made her wild. She needed him, needed this, needed the sweet ecstasy that was spiralling through her with every thrust; she called his name urgently, close to losing her mind. Strike laved his tongue across her nipple, surrounding it with his mouth and sucking softly, and stars burst in Robin's brain; she arched her back, pushing her breast against his mouth. </p>
<p>Strike released one of her hands and lowered his down into the space between them, finding her clitoris and pressing two fingers against it. Robin cried out; the feeling was indescribable, and she needed more. She used her free hand to grab his shoulder, her short nails digging into his skin as she clutched him. Strike began to rotate his fingers in tight circles, feeling her body stiffen beneath him and her moans become near constant. He looked into her blue eyes as her orgasm erupted, and he groaned and spilled into her as she screamed his name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They walked down the gentle hill, their joined hands still a novel sensation despite their newfound intimacy. Robin sighed as she looked around, wondering how often a person was lucky enough to become completely happy in every aspect of life.</p>
<p>"You know, we never did come up with an excuse."</p>
<p>"You're right. We might have to just go with the yoga," grinned Strike, and Robin snorted.</p>
<p>She let go of his hand to skip up the drive and ring the old doorbell. A few seconds later, the door was opened and they were greeted by a delighted dog and a confused woman.</p>
<p>"I didn't think you were coming," said Linda.</p>
<p>"Mum, you mentioned a full English to Cormoran. What did you think was going to happen?"</p>
<p>Strike smiled and gave a half wave from behind Robin. Linda grinned.</p>
<p>"Well, come in, come in. I thought you'd have breakfast included at the hotel." She ushered them in, kissing her daughter and then stepping back to allow Strike to enter, clearly unsure whether a hug would be appropriate. Strike smiled.</p>
<p>"We did. Smoked salmon or quail's egg Benedict," he said, pulling a face of mock horror. Linda laughed.</p>
<p>"Well, there's none of that here," she headed along the hallway to the kitchen, calling out as she went. "Michael, open that second packet of bacon, will you?"</p>
<p>Robin watched her go, then caught Strike's eye and grinned. She pulled him to her, encouraging his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss onto his smiling mouth.</p>
<p>"Still happy to be here?" she asked.</p>
<p>Strike gripped her waist tightly, pulling her closer, and kissed her again: his lips held a faint promise of more passion. </p>
<p>"I'm so happy here," he whispered.</p>
<p>"Good. Me too."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Songs:</p>
<p>Ms Grace - The Tymes<br/>This Is It - Melba Moore<br/>Insomnia - Faithless (implied reference)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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